


In the cuppa lies the confession

by Madame_Samovar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6328486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Samovar/pseuds/Madame_Samovar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After saving the Ambassador Montilyet during the loss of Haven, Cassandra is invited for a cuppa as a "thank you for saving my life"<br/>And there, in the peace and intimacy of a tea time, the world is revealed, and the Seeker Pentaghast will find that in the cuppa lies the confession of her feelings.</p><p>After Haven's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of snow and fire is death.

It did begin as a normal day: recruits to train, negotiations to master, contacts to reach, intel to gather, but isn’t it as the most common that start the days of total mess?  
The breach closed, the joy and relief tingling in the air, beer poured like rivers and songs that would definitely shake Mother Giselle’s heart sung, the perfect combination of a happy ending, but then all went to hell.  
An alarm bell rang, an army came from nowhere across the highest mountains, that’s how the horror dawned.  
At the second assaults, the doors of the fortress were blown into splinters, and in the middle of the chaos of people running to save their dear lives, and those that made walls of their bodies to allow survivors, casualties happened.  
Adaar, and Varric struggled to maintain control on the ramparts, trying to slow the flow of demons and mages to cross the fortifications. Dorian and Cassandra were fighting the ones already inside the camp.  
The tevinter mage was duelling another mage, invoking thunder on his opponent: the bloody elf wasn’t giving up, and his barrier took ages to be diminished.  
“Dorian paralyze the archers!” shouted Cassandra, the whole universe was upside down and the noise of it incredibly loud.  
“Busy my lady! This bastard has an almost as good barrier as I have!” He answered raging thunder on his enemy once more, lifting his staff to the clouds. “But if you may allow me dance, we shall teach them style!”  
Feeling an arm clutching strongly his, Dorian understood the movement, and swung to switch positions, throwing Cassandra on the elf. She dove on him, both hands on the sword’s hilt, and plunged the blade in his chest. Dorian span on his feet and knocked his staff on the ground: the lightening crashed on the middle archer, taking with him his colleague, leaving the last archer to stand. For a second. The cloud lashed another lightening of its own, frying the last archer left.  
“That’s my boy!” laughed the man, making wiggle his moustache.  
Cassandra turned around to look behind her, and then she saw it, her veins turning cold and her heart skipping a beat.

Behind the slaughtered and the new enemies, a house consumed by flames, fire spitting long columns of black smoke as so many around, but inside, behind the entrance, between the rubbles, shone the golden clothing of Josephine Montilyet with the menacing orange light. Why was she there? Wasn’t she supposed to run with the others to the Chantry to be safe? This was madness, but wasn’t the world going wildly mad at this right instant?  
Bent on her knees she gathered a small corpse, time stopped, she looked like the Mercy on the Chantry stained glasses, so sad and so beautiful.  
Unfortunately, it seemed that Cassandra wasn’t the only one to notice the young woman, defenceless surrounded with bloodsheds and desolation: a Venatori was heading in her direction.

Josephine took the little girl in her arms, Maker’s grace, she was still breathing. Was she left alone in the house? Looking around the destroyed home, with flames and dust, she saw the dead body of a woman, crushed when the ceiling collapsed, and now half reduced to ashes already.  
Then, a tall shadow, black as night, cast near the Ambassador knelt silhouette from the outside.  
Her eyes slowly travelled up to discover, inches by inches, the broad stature of a man in armour, and his axe.  
No weapon around her, she understood how silly she had been to venture into the ruin to save this child, because now … who would save her?  
Struggling against fear, meanwhile the man took out his stained blade from a soldier, she accepted what Fate brought her, and with the hope to protect with her flesh this small thread of life in her hands, she curled her whole body around her.  
A muffled sound came from the girl, and all Josephine could think was to be brave for both of them.  
“ It’s going to be alright treasure, it’s going to be alright, stay quiet…” taking air in her lungs, she started to sing a popular song that her mom once in Antiva used to sing.  
“Spring arrives for birds to sing and stones to shine …” the Venatori was getting closer outside.  
“…Of crystal graces and berries are full your hands …” the steps of heavy iron boots were distinct.  
“…Wind shakes the tall cedar tree and the tender pine …” Josephine continued with a strangled voice as the man stopped in front of her and rose his axe.  
“… Your head Mother will adorn with flower garlands.” She finished in a whisper, her eyes closed shut. Andraste saves this child, she would give all of her being for this prayer to be granted.

Cassandra ran, as fast as her legs could carry her, fear making her more aware of each drop of sweat on her forehead, the blood dripping from her bruised arm, the shock of the steel of her sword against the armours. No time, she had no time to engage a fight, so she ran. Getting the Venatori from behind wouldn’t be safe enough to insure a proper kill or avoid any arm to Josephine, she had to stop the hit.  
Then, she ran even faster on the side of the house, on the path two more Venatori between her and her aim. Between the soft and blessed Josephine, that put her life in danger to save someone, the splendid and solar Josie, so unable to kill even for her sake.  
With this thoughts in mind, without questioning their source, she jumped on the first soldier, lifting her weight the highest she could with her sore muscles, and in a beasty move she landed on him, shield edges first under his chin. The assault pined the man to the ground, cracking his neck, slicing his throat in a singular sound.  
Without letting her heart pump another blood stream, she charged the last one with her sword, skewing him without interrupting the movement, letting the sword to dig inside to the hilt, launching herself with him through the wooden wall of the house.

A loud crack, the wall of the house at the left of Josephine’s assailant burst, Cassandra and a dead Venatori slipping on the floor in front of him.  
In a second Cassandra looked at Josephine’s scared face, and her resolution was never as strong as this instant.  
Without committing the mistake of trying to get back her weapon meanwhile being halved by the axe, Cassandra knelt and took the huge hit of blade in her gauntleted hands, stopping it in front of her face.  
A fear whimper from the Ambassador melt in with the enraged one of the butcher, pressing all his will on the weapon.  
Cassandra could clearly sense the iron smell of her own blood, shedding from her hands, their protection obviously not enough to endure such a hit.  
In a last brash scream, she gathered her strengths, and pulled back the axe, making the man to stumble for a second, just the time for the Seeker to take her dagger, and in a move, aimed the forehead. The giant fell back, dead.

This was how Cassandra Pentaghast saved Josephine’s life, and this was why she was invited for a tea in the Ambassador’s sitting room in Skyhold, she remembered.

 

 


	2. By the campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter! Didn't expect to make it that long, and will correct the mistakes inside soon (now it's 2'am time to sleep) thank you for the kudos !!! soon the tea time ! Hope you will enjoy, pure fluff again.

This was how Cassandra Pentaghast saved Josephine’s life, and this was why she was invited for a tea in the Ambassador’s sitting room, she remembered as she awoke.  
A full day to walk to Skyhold, and a first night there was the shallow time that was separating them from the nightmare they endured, as the wounds still fresh on the Seeker’s hands would attest.

For being a reckless hero, a deep cut marked the inside of each of her hand, and for being a stubborn Seeker that avoid the healers, pointing out that they already had enough work (which wasn’t a lie after all), the cuts were still painful and scarcely closed.

In the dim first light that sneaked inside the cold smithy, Cassandra inspected her bandaged palms: the sight of the worn out strip bathed in a shy sunbeam brought her memories of the soul that so fervently laced it.   
After they found the Inquisitor, settled the camp between two snowy peaks, let out all the frustration in no-sense arguments, Cassandra sat next to the fire, and lost in her thoughts she turned up her gauntlets, just as she did again in the smithy, then lightened by the glowing embers.  
“Are you in pain Lady Seeker?” a soft voice distracted her, Josephine was standing next to her. Face of a paler hazel, hair hanging more loosely on her shoulder, behind the ever polite and comforting smile, Cassandra could sense that she may need for once to be the one to be comforted tonight.

It wasn’t the warriors that held them together during their walk on the secret path behind the mountains, it wasn’t the archers that thought to carry enough food and blankets for the days to come, and it wasn’t the mages that brought peace to their shattered minds this evening, no, it was all the doing of this young woman. And Cassandra did confess to herself that she had higher and higher regard for the Ambassador day after day.  
“We all are in our way tonight Lady Josephine, it would be rude to seek attention for those scratches, or worst to dare to complain about it.” Answered the warrior, trying to align a whole sentence without shaking under the scrutiny of two green eyes. Without understanding where that power came, the Pentaghast dignity wouldn’t allow it so easily, Maker’s breath she had her pride!  
It was a lie, as her wounds had nothing of slight, and it did pulse nastily, besides she was sure that the flesh was stuck to the glove fabric.  
A short silence indicated to Cassandra that the woman sensed the lack of honesty in this answer, and was expecting a proper invitation to join her: even in the middle of a frozen nowhere, Josephine Montilyet would not lose the etiquette.  
“Do sit Lady Josephine, if you wish to, but I’m afraid to disappoint your expectations in matter of conversation.”  
With a huge smile gracing her features she sat next to the Seeker, near the campfire.  
“Thank you, but who would I be if I was expecting anything more from my saviour? Now do stop to pretend that it was the page of one of your book that graced your hands, and let me see.”  
A flood of informations washed over the warrior’s mind: saviour? Did she just say “my”? Your book? Did Varric told her too about the romance books??? I’m gonna hang that dwarf with his guts! And make him eat his own tongue first! Wait, did she just gave you an order?   
Seeing the conflict in the Seeker’s eyes and the absence of a motion, she decided to try another nerve.  
“Lady Cassandra, if you’re not going to let me try to mend your wounds out of gratitude, let a woman that can’t stand to feel useless, as I am, fixes something she can fix and get some comfort of it. Please…”  
After few seconds where Cassandra could only abandoned her gaze to linger on Josephine’s face, feeling the sincerity of these words, seeking the cracks of this gorgeous painting exposed to the warm light of the flames, she nodded.   
Silently the Ambassador rose, fetching a damp cloth, a bowl of boiled water, and a bunch of elfroot.  
She knelt in front of Cassandra, this one almost stood to object, but was immediately soothed by Josephine soft and firm voice. “Here, allow me to take care of you.” 

Mesmerized by the boldness and the truth of this simple sentence, the Seeker gave in, presenting her hands.

Cautiously, Josie took the gloves away from her bare hands coloured in a brown dry blood, the swollen wounds as ugly as it were didn’t make the Ambassador flinch.  
The touch was light but sure, her skin delicate, radiating warmth, leaving a troubled Cassandra quietly revelling in the care.  
“You shouldn’t kneel and worry yourself with me Lady Josephine …” finally said Cassandra after long minutes of silence.  
“I preferred when you were wordless, in fact.” Josephine answered casually. Taken aback Cassandra deeply stared at her. “You are joking, are you?” said the Seeker unsure after consideration.  
“Is it working?” Josie didn’t look at her until now, rewarded by the first smile she saw on the tall woman’s face since ages it seemed. It was such a sight to see.   
“In Antiva we are recognising the blood to have a strong meaning. It is in our pride and culture to take care personally and to value the persons that shed their blood for us. Don’t misunderstand me Lady Pentaghast, we do not delight into pouring blood and in massacres, we avoid violence as a nation of merchants and diplomates, which makes its willing offering more precious to Antivan people. It is out of honour and willingly that I’m cleaning your wounds, there is nothing shameful here.”  
“Oh I see, I thought … I am honoured Lady Montilyet.”said Cassandra, fumbling.  
“As I am Lady Pentaghast, besides, you saved Mirha too.” She said with a tender smile, showing a little girl sat on a bedroll, sucking her thumb, holding thigh a stuffed toy, eyes empty from exhaustion.  
Josephine began to lace the strips around her hands. “How is she?” asked Cassandra, her voice cracking with the memory of the mother’s body under the ceiling planks.  
“Shocked, I’ll sleep with her until we find a new home for her. I can’t even start to think how it feels to lose a mother…”  
At the statement the heart of the Seeker sank, because she knew how it felt, meanwhile Josie finished her last bandage.  
Then she rose, untied her cloak, and with Josephine following her, she went to Mirha, getting to a smaller size a knee on the ground.  
“You are the beautiful Mirha, aren’t you?” she said with a low soft reassuring voice, surprising Josie.  
The little girl nodded, “Well Mirha, my friend Lady Josephine is going to take care of you tonight, and this is a magic gift for you and her.” She wrapped the cloak around the ridiculous tiny stature of the child, “This is my magic cloak, and I’m giving it to you. It protects sweet little girls, and here Lady Josephine is going to make sure that no nightmares will bother you, is this alright Mirha?”

Expecting the child to nod again, Cassandra almost fell when two thin arms grabbed her behind the neck to press a grateful slimy kiss on her cheek. She huffed, blushing furiously, tenderly ruffling her curly hair, and stood to leave, without noticing that Josephine saw all the scene.   
“Lady Seeker?” she said going after her few steps, her heart melted with what she saw, but careful not to mention it as the blunt warrior would strongly deny. She turned around to look at her, allowing Josephine to pursue.   
“I’m afraid the events of the last days are holding me to thank you properly for what you did, and I do not wish to talk about it now as it is so fresh still … But would you mind to join me for a tea? When we will find our new camp obviously, wherever it will be …” she pronounced the last words with less assurance, letting the raw incertitude to appear in a glimpse.

There in the dull light of the dying fire, she could see again, not only Josephine Montilyet, but through the doubts that hovered, the true Josie. And it was such a sight to see.

“I shall look forward to it, Lady Josephine, wherever it will be.”

 

This was how Cassandra Pentaghast was invited by Josephine for a tea in the Ambassador’s sitting room, she remembered as she played with the loose bandage.

 


	3. Insomnia, possession, are the path of confession.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First days in Haven.  
> Josephine sent her billet to Cassandra to officialy invite her for a tea.  
> Cassandra is moody and distant, as experiencing insomnia and may fall a bit into madness...

           Settled in Skyhold a little time ago, everyone seemed to be full of a new energy: people inspired and hopeful again by the official ascension of their leader.  
Even with her scepticism towards Andraste, Adaar had accepted to bare their blade, to carry their burden, and to make each of her step on the solid ground letters of chants, the ones ripe of promises and tomorrows.  
Josephine was grateful for this involvement and trust of Ceres Adaar, reminding to all that glory may be the prize of the victorious, but hope was the richness of the fallen.  
Taking care of people had been a priority: each soul fighting by their side being farmers, soldiers, mothers and kids were to be looked for.  
Healers for the wounded, bread for the workers, roof tor the families, parents for children.  
“Parents for children …”, this thought was making her anxious : the child that had escaped from a certain death with her, saw her mother being crushed in front of her eyes … Would she ever recover?

Mira was young, and healing the gift of youth to grow, perhaps it will get a hazy memory with years … How could she possibly sooth such a loss?  
Ashamed of being unable to understand how she was feeling and the scar it will leave, Josephine did what she knew: she took care of the child providing her a family that will look after her  
Mira began to smile again, the antivan woman coming to her bedroom few evening per week, reading to her books, telling her the extraordinary tales of the city of Antiva that had lulled her own childhood, until the small girl dozed off, swaddled still into Cassandra’s cloak.

Cassandra never took back her gift, even if Josie sworn to have seen her shuddering in the cold winter.  
Cassandra that had been as distant as grumpy with her comrades since their arrival.

“This regard seemed deep like the antivan seas during the monsoon, Josie.” a warm voice cutting through her foggy mind. “What is troubling you this way dear?” asked Leliana, tiptoeing to the massive wooden desk. Getting her hood back, she sat on the arm of the Ambassador’s chair.  
“Oh nothing, but are you doubting of the normal depth of this witty mind of mine dear friend?”  
“I would never do this mistake Josie, never.” She elbowed her softly. “Now do tell me what is bothering you.”  
“Mmmmmh… between the drama of Heaven, the whole new to rebuild from ashes, or the hundred political and material problems that are requiring my attention? I could not tell.”  
They laughed heartedly together, it was so good to have friend’s comfort in these dark times, when you were lucky enough to still benefit their company.  
“Well not hundred, thousand, hundred would be an informal task to accomplish my darling Ambassador, it is well known that Tevinter slaves are lazy layabouts in compare of your pace at work.”  
“That was a far too elementary teasing from you Leli, almost disappointed I must say.” Josephine answered playfully elbowing her back.  
“Fair enough, what did you expect? We are getting old and grey and …”  
“Speak for yourself Spymaster!” exclaimed Josephine, pushing her friend.  
“So?”  
“I was wondering If you noticed … of course you did, under your hood, the one to hide your grey hair I presume …aouch !” getting pinched “Our Lady Seeler seemed a bit… moody lately…”  
Leliana studied her face before grinning.  
“Do you mean more cantankerous than usual, or the fact that she may be avoiding you?”  
Caught the hand in the biscuit jar Josie.  
“I do not … right, both.” Admitted the younger defeated.  
“You should forward to her a billet to invite her for this tea you promised. Cassandra is experiencing sleeping troubles lately, do not over worry yourself about it.”  
Obviously, Leliana heard everything that night, and that repressed smile of hers shown Josie that she had been caught the hand in the biscuit jar, besides that Leliana knew more than what the swas actually sharing.

“Dear Lady Cassandra,

I am well aware that our mutual tasks are occupying an exceeding time of our journeys and that you must be given a dreadful schedule,

But if per chance, you may be wealthy of a vacant moment at the end of this afternoon, I would gladly invite you for tea, as I promised you.

Faithfully,

Josephine C. Montilyet

PS: Without the thought of being too forward, I heard that it may be trying to find a peaceful night lately, please feel free to use it as long as you wish. A teaspoon shall do the trick.”

The billet was left on the table in evidence in her room, with a small round bottle which was holding safely in its glass a blue liquide.  
Cristal Grace’s water, Cassandra thought, a very expensive medicine due to the knowledge it required to produce it, avoiding the poisonous part of the flower, distilling its treasure drop by drop.  
Did Josephine knew the reason why the sleep kept avoiding the lands of the Seeker’s mind?  
No, if Leliana noticed where she wandered at midnight, in regard of their long friendship she probably would have omit the detail of such confession.  
The very fact that Lady Montilyet sent us remedy for her insomnia was a harsh irony from Fate, as she was the one that forbade rest to Cassandra’s tormented soul.  
At time where the candles are blown out, the hearth dark, and dreaming welcomed, the warrior was only visited by cold sweats and nightmares.

Of course, Cassandra had been the witness of so many horrors in her lifetime that having nightmares would be far from shaming, even the single butchery of Haven would already be enough to justify them.  
But no, no nightmares of this kind were responsible of her inability to reach sleep.

Denying the reason behind her night terrors, she was more obtuse for the other thing that went weird.  
At night, dreams were replaced by fear: fear of weakness, fear of no enemy that had a name, but the embodied threat of an axe shadowing again the curves of the Ambassador’s silhouette.  
The very thought of losing the woman shook her to bones, waking her up each time she closed her heavy eyelids, an acrid bile flooding her mouth to the single eventuality.  
In years Cassandra never dreaded to die, in years she hadn’t dreaded to lose again, in years she hadn’t had something to lose again.  
If death prospected for this breath, the Seeker wouldn’t allow it, whatever the price would be.

Then without the perspective of rest, she got out of bed, sword at belt, and walked.  
Through the courtyard, through the throne hall, climbing the stair steps in a hurry, she ended her run in front of Josephine’s bedroom door.  
Tensed like a cat ready to pounce, a hand on the hilt, she waited, an ear against the wood, until to hear a breath, a sigh, the sleepy creasing of bedsheets, sometimes the words of the lady talking in her dreams, getting few minutes of peace to the Seeker’s mind.

On the way back to the smithy, questions would harass her once again: Why does she care so much about this woman?  
She was a wonderful person of course, and Cassandra valued her presence greatly, but it was all that linked them. No?  
The answer to this interrogation as pointless as obsessing was near, but always out of her grip.  
Cassandra could only blame Cassandra for being this oblivious and complicated.

Refreshing quickly her face with her washbowl, she tried to scrap the tiredness out of her, hopelessly.  
Why did she feel so anxious about HER safety? Oh Andraste’s mercy, about HER. The weird mix of emotions that she felt reading the letter was clear enough to agree on a troubled mind.  
As the charming good and altruist person she was, Josephine wouldn’t miss friends and people to worry for her.  
“But your life was the only wall between her and death last time.” She thought for a second.  
No, she was not Cassandra’s responsibility, no. So why does it felt the exact contrary?  
Ridiculous, she buttoned up her doublet.  
This feeling of belonging …  
Maker’s breather, Josephine was not a thing that belong to anyone, and if she was, it would certainly not be to you Pentaghast, now get grip of yourself!  
She didn’t care about her family glory, but she had her pride.  
You start to get soft, she thought, pulling on her boots, a nasty small voice adding “and loony”.  
“I am not loony!” she said in a breath… but then realised: wasn’t it what all fools would answer?

Out of reverie, she skipped the breakfast once more, and in vain attempt to forget the later tea with Josephine, she was going to solve problems in her way: hitting things.  
She went to beat the shit out of dummies in the courtyard.

Starting slowly, anger, tiredness of sleepless nights, confusion, were clouding her mind. As memories.

During their trip to Skyhold, they arrived at a frozen lakefront.  
The surrounding was silent, the distance between the two sides reasonable and the ice thick.  
Crossing it would be easy: the white snow still covered all the landscape, enemies around would be detected quickly.  
Careful not to slip on the smooth ice, she walked next to her horse, leading the way with Solas and Adaar, the advisors protecting and watching the end of the line.  
The progression was laborious, wounded soldiers and children minding to keep their feet on the moving ground. Meanwhile Dorian had conjured some wicked spell, giving sorts of ice blades to his shoes, and was busy to swiftly slide, gracious as a bird of prey.

 

Sword swirling as dangerous and precise as a dragon tail, when the blow fell from the sky, she chopped neatly the right arm of the dummy, throwing her whole body in another deadly agile spin.  
Her boots were brushing against the earth, scattering dust in the air.

 

“Give them some time to get closer Cassandra.” Said Adaar, patting her horse, brave animal that carried her colossal stature. Truth must be told: it was a miracle if the poor beast hadn’t collapsed yet under the weight on its back: a tall Qunari in full armour, with its hammer and provisions.  
Waiting for the others to reach them in the middle of the lake, the Seeker lowered herself, brushing the opaque water surface, expecting to see her own reflection.  
Then she saw it for the first time.

The last dummy’s arm fell on the dirt, and Cassandra rose one last time her sword tip to the highest skies.

 

It wasn’t her face mirrored by the ice, no.  
Her breath caught into her lungs, eyes fixed on the reflection.  
In front of her, a magnificent creature was watching her, two palms pressed against the thin glass of solid water, her expression let incredibly linger lust and amusement on her features.  
And such features… Her tanned skin had the glow of a myriad of suns that had warmed it, her hazel eyes married emerald in a saint colour… Wasn’t of this emerald that were the vineyard leaves on the holy stained glass?  
Besides, fleshy lips of a dark peach, spread into such beguiling smile that it was hardly tenable sight for a human heart, and Cassandra’s was infuriated.  
A waterfall of black silky hair let lazily the curls and wildness of its mass hang on a naked shoulder…

Here, on the other side of the ice, was reflecting in the dark blue mirror of the lost lake, a face of a divine glory, a face exquisite as an Avvar Goddess, the face of the Ambassador Josephine Cherette Montilyet.

 

In a loud ragging shout, she halved the fake body, cracking the top of its head to the bottom of its guts, letting the pieces of fabric and steel crumbling down.

 

In the total abandon and helplessness of the Seeker’s soul, the icon’s hand traversed the thin barrier to land a noble hand, that even rising from the depth of the abyss carried the warmth of the west desert’s sand.  
At the touch, Cassandra jumped, conscience back, breaking the link, the vision gone.  
Then Cassandra knew, without wanting to admit it: she was possessed by Josephine Montilyet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end ! Hope you will enjoy :) Thank you for your kindness, it is a real fuel to writing !  
> If terrible mistakes do tell please, far from perfection and aware of it.


	4. To face your demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra is utterly broken, it is time to give her an answer !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First draft, may change few things. FINALLY !!!

The Chantry’s doors cracked loudly, rotating on their iron hinges, the wood moving aside to let the light in.  
Cassandra entered, closing the doors behind her.  
Today was the day, and today more than ever she needed peace, she needed silence.  
Seeking guidance, she knelt in front of the gigantic stained glass, broken and exhausted after several days of starvation and insomnia.  
The holly place empty, the only sound answering the one of her breath was the cracking of the incense coal.

In the dim morning brightness, she bathed her face with abandon, rooting herself in the consecrated cold ground.  
There, her mind was finally soothed, and balm to her bruised soul was offered by Andraste’s Grace.  
The dementia of her nightmares had shattered her confidence, and blemished the majesty of her features with exhaustion.  
So she stood there, under that massive vault, letting the strength dwelling in the sacred stone flood in.  
In few minutes, she will leave this shelter, to have tea with Josephine Montilyet.  
Maker willing, she would survive this ordeal, or pray him to allow her to fall in the next fight, taking Corypheus with her to the grave.  
\- Maker, am I sinking to madness? She barely whispered to the thick silence surrounding her.

No bird, no wind, no clatter came.  
She rose her gaze to the incense smoke, it was deep and misty, usually white, but then in an occult manner it coloured with the stained glass lights.  
More she was paying attention to this phenomenon, more she felt something luring her to this curls in the air.   
She was called, she was summoned.

The abstract smoke became deeper and deeper, darker and darker, till the shade was black.  
Black as the regal black panther’s fur, black as the fascinating black tar that lights the greatest infernos, black as the glossy black cloak of Night.  
Black, exotic, lush, made of a rich and mystic material, as Josephine’s hair.

At this revelation, Cassandra blinked, the mirage gone, the smoke turned white again, scattering lazily through air.

Unsteadily getting back on her feet, the Seeker was determined to end this madness, confronting this demon that was possessing her for weeks, that was dwelling in her mind, that was haunting her sanctuary.  
She was going to stand in front of Josephine Montilyet and manage to, Maker knows how, get back her freedom.

 

Obviously when Cassandra had arrived at Josephine’s door, she had knocked hard, but when she saw the darling Josie, that she had managed (quite skilfully) to avoid for days, her resolve to vanquish this monstrous … beauty… Well, the Seeker utterly deflated.  
If the Ambassador would have been probably enough herself for Cassandra to panic, truth must be told: the new dress she wore, ended twice the warrior and her fiery temper.   
Having left the classic formal golden attire, Josephine was preparing tea, in a cream colour dress, less sturdy, more fitted, and (for the first time) exposing her neckline.

Josephine had been startled when she had heard the rough knock at her door, but the progressively discomposed face of Cassandra (that seemed unable to understand which part of Josephine’s body to look at), put her back in control of herself.  
Cassandra did look dreadfully tired, dark circles under her fierce oak eyes, even if she was still dashing Josephine thought.

\- My apologies Lady Montilyet, I … perhaps underestimated my strength.  
Josephine smiled at her, amused, but didn’t mock her.  
\- There is no need for apologies Lady Cassandra, I barely noticed. But do have a sit, I was preparing tea for us. I took the liberty of wearing something more comfortable, the day had been dreadfully demanding, I hope you don’t mind.  
Cassandra went to sit in the designed settee, military choosing to push herself to one end of the sofa.  
Of course Cassandra did mind, to be fair, her mind couldn’t even start to fathom WHERE to be and more accurately, WHERE to pay attention.  
With excruciating efforts to focus to Josephine’s eyes when she turned around to look at her, she succeeded to say  
\- Not at all.  
Cassandra Pentaghast, you, terrible liar.

On a small table had been arranged fruits and biscuits together, a jar of honey and toasted almonds and nuts, one of Cassandra’s favourite treats.  
Cassandra feeling somehow compelled to protect Josephine (of a dangerous kettle and teapot), insisted that she sat, meanwhile she Seeker finished to brew the tea.  
She led Josephine to the settee, feeling bold enough with concern to take her hand and make her sit.  
\- You know that I’m not made of glass, do you Lady Seeker?   
Josephine teased, while Cassandra withdrew her hand cautiously but quickly, feeling strange sensations.  
\- Are you not Lady Josephine?   
They looked at each other in shock, Josephine wasn't expecting the answer, and Cassandra shocked at herself for being witty.   
Then they shared a long laugh together, eventually the mirth passed.  
Cassandra poured tea, and handed a cup to Josephine.

Not knowing what to say, Josephine led the conversation, it was light and entrancing to hear her stories about diplomatic tricks and more personal subjects.  
Her eyes shone when she mentioned her family, her fingers ghosted on her lips when she explained the different wines of her country, and her chest shuddered so graciously when laugh was shaking her ribs.  
Such new collection of expressions in her usually so careful features, that it took the warrior few seconds to register what was actually happening.

How the young woman presence brought solace and warmth to Cassandra, like a flower knowing spring beams after winter, it was invigorating.

Behind the very basic fact that this creature was mesmerizingly beautiful, she had lit a dusty candle in Cassandra’s heart.   
And that afternoon, the candle had turned into a blaze.

Then, Cassandra’s gaze focus on the reflecting surface of liquid in her cup.  
The tea was of a rich brown, shadowing the bottom of the china.  
The time froze again, Cassandra could feel her senses coming to a certain end, leaving only her sight untroubled.   
The lights died a second, diving from the surface into another picture.  
Two silhouettes took shape more and more distinct.  
In the haze of the beverage two persons stood together …  
Two women stood together…

The illusion took its final form, revealing itself to the Seeker : in the hollow of her cup SHE was standing, skin to skin, lips to lips, heart to heart, with the gorgeous Josephine Montilyet.  
Her breath became inexistent, her heart refusing to pump another stream of blood, paralized.  
She could feel the warmth of the voluptuous Antivan woman in her arms, the flesh of her lips on hers, and the bewitched smell of her perfume.  
Was she speaking? A slow and antic language rolled on her tongue, but from the small mirror no sound came.   
The apparition left Cassandra flabbergasted by the so familiar and in the same time so new way Josephine’s lips had to graciously form silent words, punctuating her sentences with kisses, like a spell ... or was it like a blessing?  
There, in the cuppa, lied the confession.

**Author's Note:**

> The real part of this small story is coming soon as bad as it is. :)


End file.
